rainy days and thursdays

I'd like to tell you, lovely readers, that we have a happy ending for you.  I really hope we do.  I'd like to say, indeed, that we're still far from finding any ending at all for our little kitten saga.  And maybe that's so.

For don't they say that some of the best stories are told in trilogies?  I'd like to think we might only have closed the cover on the first volume of our feline narrative; that yet more adventures await.  Maybe this is time for us to pause and reflect on the story so far;  for us to lean back in our seats, stare out the window, warm mug of tea in hand, and ponder the fates of our heroes and heroines.

Alas, I look out the window and all I see is rain.

It's a miserable day, today. That's for sure.
A touch of The Carpenters might just be called for because who could say it better?

This final part of book one (please, let's name it so, for now, at least) has not been an easy one; nor will it be quick in the telling.  None the less, we'll see how far we progress today, knowing there will at least be another chapter or two for you, dear reader, before the close.  Are you sitting comfortably?  With handkerchief at the ready?  Then I'll begin...

You'll recall that the previous chapter saw our family hotfoot it across the road - most likely to escape the prying eyes and video camera of Yours Truly, the villain of the piece.

What could we do after that? We ummed and we ahed and we thought a bit and then a bit more, and that's about where we left you last time, I suppose.

Ultimately we came to the conclusion that there was very little we could do.  So, we left them to themselves (save for continuing to feed mum), hoping that the neighbours wouldn't notice; that they'd have everything they needed and be safe.  After all, Agatha had chosen the spot.  Nature knows best, and all that.

Except, nature probably didn't bargain on a deep crevasse opening up by an innocent-looking shrub in a garden otherwise like any other.

It was yesterday afternoon, and I was preparing a late lunch when I heard raised voices and fuss across the road.  It was the type of fuss that could only mean one thing: the neighbours had discovered the kittens, or more accurately, as it turned out, they had discovered two of them. The location of their discovery, however, was disconcerting to say the least.  Fred and Ginger had apparently fallen down to the bottom of a newly-erected wall's foundations (foundations scheduled for filling in quite soon).  They were sandwiched in a gap about 5 centimetres wide and 70 deep with bottles and bits of rubble wedged in at varying depths periodically along its length.  Oh, and did I mention a huge big prickly shrub blocking access to the exact spot at which the kittens were cowering?

(taken after removal of said shrub)

Deep. Breath.

ActionAllStations.

Withtheshrubandlotsofrubbleinthewayitwascleartheywouldn'tbereachablebyhandevenifthegapwasshallowerthanitappeared(turnsoutitwasn't).SotheneighbourssetabouthackingdowntheirshrubwhileItriedandtriedtoassemblesomekindof-anykindof-friendlylookingrescuebasketorscooporwhatevermightbepokedownable.

OK, I can't keep that up. But you've now had a taster of how about 6 hours of that afternoon felt. Ever had days like that? Where it's just one high-adrenaline thing after another after another after another?  I'm sure you all have.  And they suck, right?  I ate my late lunch at 10pm. D'oh.

See, now the story so far's worn me out already and I've barely even started. Ho hum. I'll be back, and I hope you will, too.  In the meantime, I'll leave you with some examples of my failed engineering attempts (excuse the shaky hand),

Keep safe, won't you all?  For today, at least.

I can't handle any more drama just yet.  

on the move

So, I guess you're all on tenterhooks to know what's happening with the kittens, aren't you?  You must be.  I would be.  I think.  Unless I was having more of a 'dog' day.  Or was busy doing lesson prep or something.

Anyway, I can confirm that yes, I do have kitten news for you, but you're going to have to wait to get it!  First, today's story, set in the competitive world of kitty real estate and construction, must be endured!

Our tale begins, as you know, with one small bundle of wisteria cuttings. Great old admirable eco home.  Sustainable.  Free.  All that jazz.  Funny thing is, leaves are not as simple a construction material as first appearance suggests. Quite apart from their prickly-when-dry nature, scoot around on them too much with your pushing, shoving and clawing to get at mum's belly, and they soon get swept out from under you.  Exposing cold, unforgiving concrete.

Teatowel or no teatowel, within a day or two, House One was 'ideal home' no more.  Time to move on.

Now, it's worth remembering at this juncture that, in fashioning House One, Agatha had done the best she could with rather limited means.  Cosy safe spots don't tend to be reserved for snotty stray runts round these parts. There are people building in back yards, teretorial toms, howling hounds, scowling senhoras, careering cars... you get the picture.  Quiet as it may seem, it's actually a fairly inhospitable landscape for new cats, this neighbourhood.  If we weren't careful, Agatha was going to move the whole family to a far less secure spot, so we decided human intervention was most definitely the order of the day.  The front 'garden' was looking quite a disgrace, anyway.  It had long since needed attention.  Why not convert it into a nursery?

A camoflagued cardboard box, with soft towel lining, straw all around and a pretty red sunshade (streetcombed in Madrid - I swear, it's amazing the stuff people chuck out) sat staring her in the face.  How could she resist? Thankfully, the litter got moved into House Two the very next night.

And yet, before long, we could see it becoming harder and harder for her to contain the little explorers within its small walls.  Another assessment of the housing market was in order.

House Three, we'll get to in a minute.

House Four was another Hobo-assembled offering.  It needed to be bigger this time, so I had scaled it up.  And got a bit carried away in the process.

That doorway-cum-entrance hall is WAY too exposed - how is a cat supposed to keep an eye on comings and goings?  No chance!  I almost heard her snub.  I had carelessly lost sight of my client's needs.  She didn't even give it a second glance.  I was heart-broken.  Vaguely consoled, however, when our finicky siamese continued to shun House Three:

the expensive but characterless, mass produced, plastic alternative that our lovely local cat woman had insisted I take on the second day.  It was going spare, she said.  And she obviously didn't think much of my DIY efforts, the first of which I had proudly unveiled only seconds before.

So, where could the cats happily move to, do you think?

Before we get our answer, a customary twist in the tale!

I've been on (and on, and on) at you about voting in the poll to give NoName Fluffball a moniker, I know, but I hereby officially back off and leave you be.  The poll's closed, it's true, but in any case, recent events force me to be more forgiving of those who don't want to get too close.  Because I can well understand the sentiment.  Getting involved sets you up for loss, doesn't it?  Getting involved means emotional upheaval when, for example, a routine Sunday evening kitten check...  might reveal... something like...

... an empty House Two.  

Or worse (what actually happened)... one sole kitten, mewing on her own.

Oh, the panic!  The desperation!  The sheer powerlessness!

We knew that, much to Agatha's annoyance, Ginger had been on excursions outside the nest before.  At those times, a reckie on our part would reveal one cat and two kittens in the box, with mewing coming from a little way off.  Having things this way round - Ginger and her mewing still contained within the box but noone else visible - had us dumbfounded.  Had she pushed her mum one step too far? Put the litter at risk with her recklessness? Had she been abandoned?

Our hearts in our throats, we quickly ran through the possibilities.  House One was long since forgotten, and a scan of Houses Three and Four returned no joy. It was dusk and getting darker by the second.  The mews were sounding more and more forlorn.  Think, Hobo!  What can we do?  What should we do?!

Thankfully, it came quite soon.

A rustle. A growl. A hiss.  We had interrupted the family mid-move, and Agatha, keen to collect her last charge, was getting agitated at our proximity.  Phew.  A happy ending.  Almost.

The whole clan has been safely installed in Abode Five (we can't call it a House  for reasons which will become clear) for five days or so now.  They seem happy enough.  Mum keeps eating, three bundles keep tumbling around.  The big difference being, they now do it out of sight, and very, very well contained.  They currently reside just about  HERE.

Never mind the huge rosebush stem.  Pickly is obviously de rigueur.

Until the rains come, then...!
;)